Silence, tears and hugs, this is the release of journalist Carolina Amaya's father

In a mix of tears, emotions, hugs and laughter, Benjamin Amaya's three daughters met their father shortly after 10pm Friday at his modest home in the rural area of ​​San Juan Obico, after he was released after 10 years. Months in jail.

Early that morning, journalist Carolina Amaya, Benjamin's daughter, his sisters and the prisoner's spouse had gone to the Zacatecoluca penal farm with the hope and hope that they would be able to embrace their family member after so many months.

Earlier in the day, the Opigo investigative court ordered the defendant's immediate release after posting $10,000 bail and alternative measures to jail.

Carolina's family was accompanied by representatives of the El Salvador Press Association (APES) and a group of journalists, but when they arrived at the front of the prison, the first thing they encountered was an attempt to partially block press freedom. Guardians.

WATCH: APES confirms release of journalist's father

However, when they met with people about their rights, they ended up arguing and calling the police to prevent journalists from working. A few minutes later, a patrol of four police officers from the 911 system arrived in front of the prison because prison farm guards were reporting “complications outside the facility.”

“It was a thuggish attitude when the people from this prison farm tried to prevent journalists from doing their work in the public area because they wanted us to leave the place,” said Angélica Cárcamo, president of APES.

At the Punishment Farm

At 8:30 a.m., Carolina, accompanied by APES Legal First Aid Clinic lawyer Emparatriz López, presented the freedom letter at an information booth at the entrance to the prison farm and was told to wait without explanations.

The wait lasted for 11 hours and no explanation was given as to what to do, whether he should wait or if he should return. “I don't know,” was the reply of the guard, whose long nails were visible only when the lattice window was half opened, when the reporter consulted.

The unusual presence of journalists outside the venue attracted the attention of relatives of those arrested, who stood in long queues to hand over bags of basic necessities or to deposit money.

Some cautiously asked if we were working for a government newspaper, others said they had come from far away to deposit money with their families to deposit money for Christmas combos sold in prison shops, others said it was the last day to deposit money. Prisons refuse to release them even though their relatives have release letters.

After 11 am, Carolina again asked if there was any progress on the document, because after more than three hours, they had not even returned the copy with the receipt stamp. The guards curtly said they had no knowledge. “What we are seeing is that the judiciary and the prison system are not coordinated because there was an order from yesterday to release my father and until now many hours have passed and the prison has not released him,” Carolina said.

Confidential publication

A few remained at the place where the packages were delivered at noon; Some minibus-type vehicles with sealed windows leave the prison, which family members say are used as ambulances. Some of the prisoners going for trial also got a vehicle.

A colorful van also left, possibly carrying Benjamin Amaya prison, but, although his family was at the entrance, they were not informed.

By afternoon, the area was deserted, with only the occasional few leaving the bags that the guards had placed on the mountain of packs and mats that had been collected throughout the day.

It was 3:30 p.m., the closing time for general administrative staff, and the journalist approached the information booth again, but the guard closed the door to prevent her from answering. Representatives of Carolina and APES both insisted that at least the copy they received be returned. “The bosses are already on holiday” was heard from the other side of the window.

Benjamin's daughters did not give up their father due to fear and torture and did not say anything to them, meanwhile, they took him to Jacatecoluga station to release him, but the police did not receive him, so they took him away. Artillery Battalion.

A neighbor who was passing by the place was attacked when he saw the man dressed as a prisoner, but later recognized him and took him home.

When Benjamin came home, he found no one but the family pets, black, a dog, a parrot and some cats, so he asked some neighbors for help on the phone, but he didn't get an answer, because their daughters and their spouses were outside the prison farm. Phone signal not available.

Meanwhile, Benjamin takes a short tour of the land to see if the lemon tree he planted before his capture has survived. Unaware that the family had sold it to buy food while in prison, he realized that the goat he had was no longer there.

Reunion

At 6:00 p.m., between sadness, grief and physical exhaustion, the journalist and his relatives left the prison farm, without an explanation or answer, only the experience of ill-treatment and the silence that dozens of relatives enjoy. day at that place by the so-called general “employees.”

Moments later when they had access to a cell phone signal, they realized Benjamin was already home. Hours later, they hugged each other, a moment they'd longed for more than 10 months.